Survivor
by Undead Dungeon Master
Summary: When Richard sets Denna free, she flees north to escape the grasp of Darken Rahl, but finds that she can never outrun her own memory and pain. A Denna solo story set immediately after "Bloodline."
1. Chapter 1

**PROLOGUE**

"**Unforgiven"**

The Confessor's fists rained down on Denna's face, and with each blow her head snapped back and forth. She desperately wanted to fight back, to push her away. She had fought this Confessor before, and knew she was at least an even match. Yet her arms would not raise, not even to ward off the fists hammering down on her.

Richard had used the Box of Orden, and with its power sentenced her to death. She was as powerless as the Confessor, each of them trapped in their role by Richard's now inescapable will, executioner and executed. Denna lost all sense of where she was, what was happening around her. Tears and blood filled her eyes, and her ears rang, and still the Confessor hit her, again and again.

Then it stopped. She could feel the weight of the Confessor, sitting on her, pinning her to the ground. Her attention was elsewhere, and Denna blinked, trying to clear her eyes. The Confessor was rising now, running off. Denna realized that the power of Orden no longer compelled her limbs, no longer prevented her from considering her own survival.

"What have I done?" screamed Richard, off in the distance. His voice sounded as if it were miles away. Denna rolled on to her belly, and flopped her arms out, struggling to rise to her hands and knees. She would crawl back to Darken Rahl if she must.

Then what, she thought angrily, then he'll flay you alive, and use his sorcery to ensure your death lasts for years. As she crawled towards the sound of Richard's voice, she found herself cursing the Confessor for not being just a bit stronger, for not using her daggers. There was nothing for Denna now but death, death at the hands of the Seeker, or death at the hands of Rahl. At least the Seeker would be merciful and quick.

"Richard! Finish me off," she called weakly as she crawled forward. "Before Darken Rahl finds me."

Denna struggled to her feet as the Seeker approached her. He looked at her with pity and compassion, and Denna remembered her experiences with the Seeker, when he had touched her heart in a way she thought was no longer possible. Her eyes filled with tears, and she prayed that he would strike her down quickly.

"No," he said sadly. "No more killing."

"Please," she begged. There was nothing else for her now. "Leaving me to Darken Rahl is worse than killing me."

Out of the corner of her eye she caught sight of the woman she'd killed, Jensen's mother. She looked at the woman's still body, and realized the futility of asking the Seeker to show her mercy. The torture Rahl would inflict on her would be justice, and the Seeker would leave her to it. She sank to her knees, a wild surge of painful and confused emotions overwhelming her.

Her eyes turned back to the Seeker, and he was staring directly into her eyes. Every time she looked into those eyes, she felt her world shattering. The carefully constructed lies and self-deceptions that allowed her to push aside all the guilt, the shame, and the incredible self-hatred that her life as Mord'Sith had left her with, all were reduced to ash by the fire in his eyes.

For a brief dizzying moment, Denna thought that he might forgive her, might absolve her of all the horrible things she had done in her relatively short life, and that he would take her along with her.

"Then I suggest you run," he said coldly. There was no compassion in his eyes now, just cold anger. Denna's heart broke, and she collapsed sobbing. The Seeker and his companions left her there at the entrance to the Cave of Sorrows.

She sat and cried in the clearing for some time. The sun rose and minutes stretched into hours before she finally rose. She was facing north, so she began to walk north. She had no idea where she was going, nor did she care.


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER ONE**

"**Forced March"**

Denna walked through the forest, though it would be generous to call her slow, shuffling gait walking. She picked up one heavy foot, swung it forward, and stomped it down. Then the next foot. One after another, she pushed forward. She had walked for three days now. Every step send a fresh jolt of pain up the length of her leg. It meant nothing to her.

Three days of constant motion, day and night, clad in skin tight leather. Flies swarmed around her, and her skin itched and burned. That she had not stopped to relieve herself had not stopped her from relieving herself. She had neither ate nor drank in that time. Her lips were parched and peeling, her tongue was swollen in her mouth, but her stomach no longer rumbled. It simply ached.

Thoughts assailed her as she walked. Rising up out of the darkness and attacking her, and she walked to get away from them. But there was no getting away from them.

She thought of her mother. Her mother screaming in pain as the Mord'Sith tortured her. Denna was kneeling, an older woman standing behind her. She was holding Denna's face, Denna's jaw in her hand, forcing her to watch. In that moment Denna learned to push her pain and fear aside, and Denna pushed this memory aside. She took another step.

Sometime in the night the forest had given way to prairie pastures and wildflowers. Small glaciers began to dot the rolling landscape, and the terrain became increasingly rocky. The mountains were ahead of her, and so these must be the foothills. She wondered for a moment if she could survive to walk across the mountains, but banished the thought.

She thought of Darken Rahl standing before her, his hands finding the curves of her body as she hung suspended in his dungeons. He was telling her how much he loved her as he pressed her agiel into her belly, and telling her how very disappointed in her she was. Denna pushed the memory aside and took another step.

One foot forward, then the other. Repeat to infinity. She crested a hill and walked down a slope of polished white stones, left behind by the passage of a massive glacier in some distant age. The stones slid across each other, and the combination of treacherous footing and feet numbed with pain brought her to her knees. She pitched forward and tumbled down the slope, unable to lift her arms to catch herself.

When she came to a stop, she allowed herself a groan before pushing herself off the ground and struggling to her feet. She inhaled slowly through her nose, her eyes clenched tight, then let the breath out slowly through her mouth.

She thought of Richard asking her to let Constance torture him, the anger and rejection she had felt, and the confusion that had followed when he looked at her with eyes full of genuine concern and told her that he didn't want her to suffer anymore. Denna pushed the memory aside and took another step.

One step forward, then the other. She was coming to a thin stream, a trickle of runoff from a glacier. She could smell the water. Denna tried to recall if she had ever smelled water before. She was only a few feet from the stream now. Another step and cold water trickled over her foot. Something deep inside her yearned for that water, demanded that she drop to her knees and drink greedily from the little brook. Denna pushed the desire aside and took another step.

With each new step she found herself struggling more and more against the desire to kneel down and touch her lips to the chilled, fresh mountain water. It would be delicious. She could imagine it pouring down her parched and swollen throat. She would swish it around in her mouth, feel it wash the dust and grit from between her teeth. Denna pushed the desire aside and took another step.

The stream babbled gently. It was the warm laugh of a happy infant, inviting her to lean down and pick it up, cuddle it against her breast. It sang to her, a sweet lullaby promising relief and comfort. It was pure music tumbling over polished stone, and it offered to make her whole and perfect, if she would only kneel down and take it into her. Denna pushed the desire aside and took another step.

She looked down at the stream, daring a glance. The water was crystal clear, and where it tumbled over the rocks it burst with droplets that sparkled like diamonds. Denna knew she was losing her mind, the rocks themselves seemed to sparkle like nuggets of gold. The water was treasure, she realized, and she could take it all, if she just knelt down. Denna pushed the desire aside

The stream was behind her. Her entire body screamed its desire to turn around and return, but she pushed it aside and took another step. The corners of her mouth twitched ever so slightly, a smile almost coming to her lips. She had won.

She took another step, then another, and the world spun around her. The sky hurtled to the earth as the earth hurtled into the sky, trees grew sideways and upside down, and something hard and unforgiving slammed into her with terrific force. As the world turned dark, she realized that it was the ground.

* * *

Barden ambled over the small ridge, a pair of empty buckets hung from her walking stick, which was in turn slung over her shoulders. She was whistling tunelessly as she walked. The polished white stones slid under her feet, but with practice care she rode out the small avalanches and made her way towards the stream.

Lying about twenty paces from the edge of the stream, face down, was a young woman. She was wrapped from head to toe in blood red leather, and flies were swarming around her. Likely dead, she thought, as she approached. Standing over the girl, Barden thought she must be dead. Her eyes were open, glassy and blank. Dried rivulets of blood trickled from her nose and mouth, and her lips and tongue were swollen. Most of her face was a colorful patchwork of bruises. Someone had clearly beaten her badly. Had she run away from them, and collapsed here to die from her wounds?

Barden slid the buckets from her walking stick and used it prod the girl's corpse. The girl grunted and Borden took a surprised step back. She dropped to her hands and knees and put her ear next to the girl's mouth. At first she heard nothing, and then a low soft moan. The girl was alive!

Barden rushed to the stream and took up a handful of water, then carefully made her way back to the girl. She lowered herself down and splashed the water across the girl's face, letting it trickle over her lips and into her mouth. She coughed and sputtered.

"Well damn," Barden said aloud to no one in particular. She looked up into the bright blue sky, but there was no answer there. Barden let out a long, heavy sigh and hefted the girl up over her shoulder and began the trek back to her cabin. "Seems like the work around here is never done."

* * *

Denna woke slowly and fitfully over the course of the next night and day. Random tumbling sensations assaulted her as she struggled to make sense of the world and then retreated back into the safe bosom of unconsciousness. She was warm. It was dark. There was an orange glow. Her face was wet. A hand brushed hair from her face.

Conscious suddenly returned roaring to life, and she sat up straight, frantically casting about the room. She knew with terrifying certainty that Rahl had captured her, that she was in his dungeon, and that soon the torture would begin. The walls around her were stone, the air was thick with smoke, and it was dark and hot. A warm orange glow emanated from some point in the darkness, a fire. So it would be brands and hot irons then, coals placed on her tongue and flaming points pressed into her flesh.

Panic welled up inside her, but Denna pushed it down. Pushed it down as she pushed down every feeling she'd had in twenty years. Pushed it down so fast and so throughly that she didn't even have time to recognize that she had felt something. She demanded of herself that she be calm, and so she was calm.

Her vision adjusted to the poor light in the room, and she began to notice...inconsistencies. A pot was hanging over the fire. Steam rose from the pot, and on the steam Denna could detect potatoes and carrots, cabbage and the rich, fatty smell of game. It was stew, rabbit stew. Why was there stew in a torture chamber, she wondered. This rack she lay on was covered in blankets and furs, and over there was a rack with coats and more furs. There were utensils, bowls and pots and pans. A chair with a smell desk. This was a cottage. Someone lived here, in this room.

There was also a woman sitting in a chair by the fire, a book in her lap, spectacles perched on her nose, a pipe tucked into the corner of her mouth. She was older than Denna, old enough to be her grandmother at least, maybe even her great-grandmother. Her face reminded Denna of a walnut, dark, wrinkled and heavily lined, with thin, woolly gray hair. She was a big woman, heavy set and broad shouldered, and her size was made more prominent by the heavy patchwork jacket she wore bundled around her. Her short stubby fingers carefully and delicately turned the pages of her book. Before she turned them she would gently touch her fingers to her lips and dab their points with her tongue.

"Who are you?" Denna demanded, but her voice was weak and faint, and caught in her throat. "What have you done with me?"

"Well good, you're awake," said the old woman said curtly as she set down her book. "About time too. I'm not fond of lazy layabouts who take up space and don't earn their keep."

Denna touched her hand to her throat, trying to clear it, and realized her collar was gone. She pulled away the heavy blankets covering her. She was wearing nothing but a large dingy gray tunic, cut for a woman much larger than her. Blond strands fell across her eyes, and she ran a hand through her hair. Her braid was undone, and her hair hung free.

"Did you undress me?" she asked as she stared at the woman. She simply reached for a wooden bowl and began ladling stew into it. "Answer me!"

Denna choked on the words and began coughing. She was feeling feverish.

The old woman continue ladling stew into the bowl, then stood and leaned towards Denna, extending the bowl. Denna stared at the bowl then looked up at the old woman.

She was looking down at her expectantly, and Denna realized she had very kind eyes, with extensive crinkles from laughing. Denna hesitantly took the bowl and sniffed it suspiciously. The smell was intoxicating and she realized it had been days since she last ate. She grabbed a chunk of meat out of the stew and put it in her mouth. As soon as she tasted the rich fatty meat, something inside her broke and she began greedily shoveling the stew into her mouth.

"Careful girl," chuckled the old woman. "You'll give yourself a stomach ache."

"You didn't answer my question," Denna mumbled as she continued with the stew.

"That red leather outfit? It was rotting on you," she explained. "So I cut it off, and gave you a bath. Filthy as you were, you weren't going to heal."

"No," Denna said around loud slurping as she upended the bowl and poured the rest of the contents down her throat. "The other question. Who are you?"

"Me? I'm nobody. Just a crazy old hermit."

"And your name?"

"You can call me friend."

Denna regarded the woman suspiciously.

"I'm sorry," she apologized. "I'm just not sure I want to give my name to a Mord'Sith. Not until I know why she was lying dead in a stream miles from anywhere."

Denna and the old woman locked eyes and considered each other seriously for some time.

"I'll just call you friend then," Denna finally offered.

She was tired and ached, and she doubted she had the energy to swing her legs off this bed, let alone make a run for it. It was hard to believe this woman was a threat to her. She lay back in the bed and could feel the stew sitting heavily in her stomach now, making her feel bloated and full. Her eyes slowly closed and she drifted off to sleep.

* * *

Several days had passed, and Denna was up and moving about. At first it had taken everything she had to get out of the bed and join her new friend at the table for meals. She'd run a fever for a few days, and her long and arduous forced march had torn ligaments, strained tendons and bruised muscles she didn't know existed. Which was remarkable considering how extensive the study of human anatomy had been during her training.

Today when she had woken she was alone in the small cabin. She slowly swung her legs out over the floor, then gingerly set them down. The soles of her feet were still blistered and bruised, the cold stone floor was soothing. She pressed down hard, grinding her feet into the floor. Electric jolts of pain raced up her leg and she smiled.

She stood and walked across the cottage, enjoying the symphony of protest that cried out from every inch of her body. She tried to be aware of each chord, to hear every note. The pain meant nothing to her. She simply observed it.

Smoldering coals lined the fireplace, and the heavy iron pot was full of warm oat gruel that had boiled down to a thick paste. Denna filled a bowl with it anyways. Her legs felt strong enough to stand, so she stood. As she chewed on the gruel, she looked around the room, considering its contents.

Against one wall was a small desk with a single chair, and on the desk lay a hairbrush. Denna set the bowl of gruel down and walked over to the hairbrush. Blond hairs were caught in it. Her hair. Her friend had combed the braid out of her hair, and Denna had vague recollections of her combing it again while she was sick. Denna picked up the hairbrush and ran it through her hair. Free from its braid, it hung to the back of her knees. She took a seat at the desk and began brushing her hair.

With each long stroke she felt herself growing stronger and knew that she was healing quickly. As severe as the beating she'd received from the Confessor was, the wounds were all superficial, and she expected that within the next cycle of the moon she would be back in fighting form. Then she would be able to move on.

Her thoughts turned to Darken Rahl and the Seeker, Richard Cypher. Both had rejected her, both would destroy her, and without either of them she felt lost. She hated them both, hated them with such incredible passion that she couldn't bear it. Yet some part of her desperately needed them. Without them, she felt purposeless.

Darken Rahl had shaped and molded her into something she could not bear, something she felt nothing but disgust and contempt for. He had made her into a thing for his sick amusement, and for her entire adult life she could not imagine being anything other than that toy. Worse, she felt comfortable being that toy. It was familiar.

Richard had destroyed the safety and comfortable numbness of that life. Richard had shown her a love that was not rooted in pleasure, a love that was not twisted by Rahl's fears and insecurities. A love that transcended pain and pleasure, a love based in a genuine compassion for the suffering of another. She had seen it in her eyes and remembered, remembered a time before the Mord'Sith, before Darken Rahl, before she had learned how strong she was, and how much pain she could bear. She craved to see Richard look at her with those eyes, to feel something other than pain, pride and contempt.

Instead, he had run her through with that damn Sword of Truth and left her for dead. She'd comeback for him, and he repaid her by setting his witch on her, leaving her with nothing. Not even a master to crawl home to. How she had wanted him to say "Come with me Denna, and I will teach you to feel again." Instead he had rejected her again, the great and unworthy Denna, banished forever.

Now she was free. Richard had told her she was free to make her own choices. She couldn't remember what it was like to make choices. When she was a child she had done as her parents said, and when she Rahl's she had lived to serve his desires. She tried to imagine what her own desire would look like, and found nothing. Richard had told her she was free to make her own choices, but she felt very far from free.

A loud snap brought Denna into the present. It was the hairbrush -- she'd broken it. She touched her forehead and it was warm and wet. Examining her fingers, she found they were slick with blood. She looked down at her feet and saw that she had torn large clumps of hair free.

She slowly pulled long blond hair from the broken brush. She balled it up and deposited it on the desk, and while doing so noticed a pair of heavy iron shears, the sort used on sheep to gather wool. She picked them up and considered them. She grabbed a fistful of hair and cut into it with the shears. Then another, and another. With ruthless efficiency she cut away at her hair.

"Stars above girl," came a voice from the door, her new friend. "What do you think you're doing."

Denna looked blankly at the old woman, tears streaming down her face. She didn't know what she was doing, and it terrified her. The old woman sat next to her, and gently pried the shears from her fingers. She wrapped an arm around Denna's shoulders and pulled her into a hug. Denna let go and began sobbing, and the old woman rocked her gently.

"It's alright dear," she cooed. "You just get it all out."


	3. Chapter 3

**CHAPTER TWO**

"**The Town At The End of the World"**

Another week had gone by, and Denna was strong enough to leave the cabin and so she began venturing outside. The small stone cottage sat between two large hills at the foot of the first of the many small mountains that made up this range, and from the front door one could see light forest, and beyond it deeper woods. Denna wasn't sure where she was, geography had never held much interest to her. She was used to going where she was told, and being told how to get there.

The cabin was a simple design, a single rectangular cottage with a timber frame and walls of river stones and clay mortar, all topped by a shingled roof. Firewood was stacked against the back wall, covered by a shingled lean-to. To the left of the front door was a pen which held three ewes, and just beyond it an outhouse. To the right was an extensive vegetable garden.

Today she was working with the old woman in that garden, pulling out weeds while her new friend planted new shoots. The work was hard and unfamiliar to Denna, but the exercise helped her heal. She had never done this sort of common labor. It was beneath a Mord'Sith, but Denna found she enjoyed it.

It didn't matter if the work was beneath her, she mused, she was no longer a Mord'Sith. Old habits die hard though, and the training was in her blood. While she still felt like Mord'Sith inside, she certainly no longer looked the part. Her long braid was gone, and while the old woman had done her best to repair the damage, her hair still most resembled a loose stack of hay. Also gone was her red leather, destroyed and buried by the old woman, and instead she wore a gray blue tunic a size too large for her, cinched at the waist with a heavy belt, and leather trousers fitted for a woman about her size. She hadn't asked where the pants came from, just as she hadn't asked why the cottage had beds for three when the woman lived alone.

"Will we have to expand the garden?" she asked as she wiped sweat from her brow. "There doesn't seem to be enough to feed two."

The old woman stopped and regarded her coolly. "Planning to stay then are you?"

Denna was surprised by the question, unsure what to say. She had been planning to stay, but hadn't realized it. She enjoyed being here with the old woman. Denna tried to say something, but her every instinct warned her not to admit to anything, to show any desire. Vulnerabilities exist to be exploited.

Denna turned her eyes to the ground and resumed pulling weeds.

"It's alright," the old woman clucked. "You can stay if you like. You're quiet and you work hard."

The two continued to work in silence for several minutes, when the old woman quietly added "You can call me Barden."

Denna met Barden's eyes and smiled.

"Denna," she replied.

* * *

Denna was chopping firewood, a chore she found she enjoyed far more than pulling weeds, and took to with some glee and relish. She punished the wood with her ax, and a wicked played smile across her lips with each stroke.

She paused and stretched her back, rolling her neck and shoulders, feeling the consequences of hard work. She enjoyed the pain, and knew she was getting stronger. She was certain that she had recovered completely, and was in fact healthier and stronger than she'd been at any point in her life before now.

Denna placed a fresh log on the chopping block, admiring how it stood proud and erect, then swung the ax back lazily before whipping around it a sweeping curve to hack into the wood and split it in twain. She grinned as wood splintered and broke, flying apart into more easily managed pieces, suitable for Barden's fireplace.

"You think you're up for a walk into town?" Barden asked, surprising Denna. The old woman was dressed in a heavy coat and boots, and brandishing a heavy walking staff.

"Town?" Denna asked, having not realized they were near a town. "What's in town?"

"Stocks and supplies. Flour, oats, candles. Two can carry more than one. If you're not ready..."

"No," Denna shrugged. "Let's go to town."

Denna put away the ax and grabbed a heavy jacket from the cabin, far too large for her, and then joined Barden. As the two began walking, Denna felt a tremendous anxiety creeping up on her, and glanced back at the cabin.

"Don't you worry," comforted the old woman. "No one in town will recognize you."

Denna started to protest, then thought better of it. The woman seemed to have an uncanny ability to read Denna, and she was certain lying would be futile. Instead she walked along the woman in silence.

They had gone at least a league, perhaps two, when Denna found herself asking Barden's permission to ask a personal question.

"I suppose," shrugged the old woman.

"Why do you have three beds when you live alone?"

Barden stopped in her tracks, and leaned against her staff, her eyes cast down towards the ground. She sighed heavily, and resumed walking. Denna felt something unfamiliar, a twinge of pain in her stomach, a tightness around her chest, and realized it was guilt.

After they had gone some distance, Barden said quietly "I once had a son, and he had a wife, and they had a daughter. Now I just have me."

Denna once had a mother and father. She had watched her mother discover the point where her strength ended at the hands of the Mord'Sith, and then she had shown her father that point within himself when she became one of them.

"You have me," Denna offered hesitantly.

"I suppose I do," acknowledged the old woman with a smile. "I suppose I do."

Denna smiled, pleased. It was the first genuine smile she'd shown anyone in years.

* * *

Denna saw the town as they came over a small ridge. Like Barden's cottage, it sat on the border between mountain and forest, and like Barden's cottage it was very small. A half dozen wooden buildings surrounded a quad of stone structures. Even from here Denna could see the D'haran banners festooning the largest of the stone structures.

"D'harans," she whispered, and Barden chuckled.

"Don't you worry about them," she laughed. "It takes a special sort of ineptitude for a D'haran to get stationed in Torben's Folly."

Barden started down towards the town, adding "Come on Denna, welcome to the middle of nowhere."

As Denna and Barden walked into the small town, Denna felt eyes following her. Women stood in doorways watching her, and children stopped and stared. Only the chickens that ran around freely paid her no attention.

"Everyone is staring at me," she whispered to Barden.

"No," she replied. "They're starring at me."

Denna cast a glance around her, and realized the old woman was right. She also noted a man approaching. He was short, but heavily built, and had a thick beard. His clothes were worn but well tended, and his hands were thick with callouses. He carried a heavy pack, and Denna saw a pick ax and shovel amongst his gear. A miner then, she thought. Accompanying him was a mangy dog that was missing a hind leg. The dog hopped forward pathetically, coming up to Barden and nuzzling at her coat pockets.

"Hello there Hero, I know what you want." she said as she scratched the dog's head. She reached in to a pocket and pulled out a piece of jerky, which the dog immediately snatched from her hand. The dog ran back to its master once it had secured the treat, and Barden laughed.

"Who's your friend, Barden," the man inquired, giving Denna a quick glance.

"None of your business Deegan," was the curt reply. "Did the wagon come in from the city?"

"It did, Donald's all stocked up," he nodded. "But I wouldn't go in there just now."

"No?" Barden replied, raising an eyebrow.

"Gregor Mar is in there right now," Deegan offered, and Denna sensed that it meant trouble.

"I'm not afraid of Mar," sneered Barden as she shuffled past the man. He turned to watch the pair go, shrugged, and headed off out of town. Denna assumed he, like Barden, had a cabin nearby.

Denna whispered a question to Barden, and Barden responded "He's Rahl's man in Torben's Folly. He's dumb as a mule and twice as ornery, so it's no surprise that he ended up here. No one knows what he did to get sent here, but apparently his brother is some genius general in Rahl's army, and that's why he's here and not in a grave."

Denna cast a glance back at Deegan and his dog. "Why is that dog called Hero?"

"He used to be called Lucky," mused Barden. "Then the bear took his leg. I guess Deegan just thought it was cruel to call a three-legged dog lucky."

"But why Hero?"

"Eh," the old woman shrugged. "The bear was going to eat Deegan. We're here, stay calm."

As they approached one of the stone buildings, Denna bristled as she saw a D'haran soldier leaning next to the door. Barden grabbed her arm and they went inside, while the guard ignored them.

It was less a general store than a poorly organized storeroom, with all manner of gear and supplies piled up on shelves, boxes and barrels. Two men were arguing over a crate. The first, obviously the shop owner, was tall and thin, wearing a sweat stained white lace shirt, faded black trousers and a lace necktie. He was balding and hadn't recently shaved. The second, Gregor Mar, was wearing the red and black of D'hara, but doing the uniform no justice. He was a fat and slovenly man, and his tunic was stained with food juices and covered in crumbs. He had curly red hair, and his face was an unappealing mixture of freckles and blackheads. He tried to hide his heavy jowls and double chins under a beard, but it was sparse and thin, and failed completely.

Both men made note of Barden's entrance.

"Barden!" exclaimed the shopkeep. "I have your books, they arrived from Brennidon."

"Wonderful Donald," she said with a wry smile. "Only took you a year to get them."

Donald shrugged and smiled, as if to ask Barden what else she expected.

"Seditious writings," sneered Gregor, inserting himself into the exchange. "No doubt."

"To a D'haran mind, I doubt there is any other kind," she replied curtly, and Gregor's sneer faltered for a moment as he puzzled out what she meant. As he considered the insult, he noticed Denna standing behind the old woman.

"Oh my, she's new," he said, and somehow made the innocuous words sound sleazy and perverse. He stepped passed Barden and considered Denna, making no attempt to hide his desire. Denna noted with disgust that the man was actually licking his lips. His eyes traveled up her body, and when he reached her face and met the cold, reptilian gaze she returned, he took an unconscious step back.

Her face was a porcelain mask, emotionless and unmoving. She didn't allow the contempt she felt for the man show. He wasn't only a weak man, he was a man defined by his weaknesses. It would take her longer to don the red leather of the Mord'Sith than to break this man. She suppressed a laugh, and the faintest of smiles teased at her lips. Gregor caught the smile and mistook it for something else, leering at her.

"You'll give me those supplies at the price I quoted," he barked at Donald, glancing back at the merchant. Donald rolled his eyes at the man's back, but said nothing. Returning to leer at Denna, Gregor adjusted his codpiece while adding "And you my dear, if you need anything, you come ask me. You'll find I'm very powerful man in this town."

"Aye," added Barden. "And you'll find Hero is very powerful beast in this town."

Gregor glared at Barden, and stomped out of the shop. Denna watched through the swinging door as the guard fell in lazily behind him. She knew it was no longer her place to care, but the soldier's lack of discipline -- a reflection of Gregor Mar's incompetent leadership no doubt -- irked Denna. A soldier of D'hara should represent his people with pride, she thought.

"You should be more careful of your words Barden," warned Donald. "Gregor Mar's stupidity is matched only by his pettiness and vindictiveness. If you don't watch yourself, you're going to get hurt."

"Those D'haran swine can't hurt me anymore than they have," she growled, but her eyes were focused on Denna.

Her gaze made Denna uncomfortable, so she turned to contemplate Donald's wares, and avoided the look. Barden turned back to Donald and they quickly completed their business. Barden volunteered Denna to carry most of the supplies back. She carried it without complaint, and shortly after nightfall they returned to Barden's cabin.

* * *

"I do this to you because I love you," Darken Rahl leaned over her, holding her chin in his hand. His voice was soft and soothing, like cool satin on fresh wounds. He pressed the agiel into her stomach and she screamed. "I just want you to understand."

She was crying now, begging him to stop. Her voice was so tiny. He wouldn't stop, it would go on for hours and hours.

"I want you to understand how strong you are," his breath hot and wet in her ear as he ground the agiel into her. "I need you to know this about yourself."

Hours stretched into days, days stretched into months. Months of hanging from her wrists, chained to racks, bent over in cages. Days of starvation and thirst, days of being forced to binge and purge herself, days in which they just beat her and beat her and beat her again.

"You'll only believe how strong you are if I show you how strong you are. I can't love you until you are strong. That's why I have to do this to you. So you can know who you really are, and then I can love you."

She hadn't understood at first, hadn't understood how he could say he loved her and then inflict so much pain. Then one morning, something was different. She was bound with same chains that cut into her wrists every day before, hanging over the same metal grill, being tortured with the same instruments. She didn't care. It didn't hurt anymore. She was above it, inured to it. She was strong. He had made her strong.

"I want you to be strong," he was whispering in her ear, his breath hot and wet on her neck. "Strong enough to love me."

Denna woke screaming, tearing at the blankets and furs. It was dark, and she was lost and confused, unsure where she was and what was happening. Panic overwhelmed her, and she struggled to untangle herself. She felt a weight against her, arms reaching around her, and realized it was Barden.

"It's alright, it's alright," she cooed. "It's just a bad dream."

Denna trembled and sobbed as the old woman rocked her gently back to sleep.

* * *

"Come on, wake up."

Denna grumbled and batted the old woman's hand away, but it immediately returned to her shoulder.

"Girl I said get your butt out of that bed."

Denna sat up sharply and glared at Barden, then brushed the hair from her eyes. The glare would be more effective if she could see the old woman. As Denna thought, there was no sunlight coming through the narrow windows of the cabin.

"Stars Barden," she complained. "It's not even morning."

"We've got a lot of walking to do, and it's best to leave before sunrise. Now get!"

Denna stumbled out of the bed. Something was wrong, something was different. As she rubbed the sleep from her eyes, she wondered about the change, trying to put words to something she couldn't quite name. She slipped her trousers on and pulled a belt around her waist. The tunic she wore was far too large, cut for Barden's son in law, but it was warm and comfortable when sleeping, and she felt too lazy to find another.

She slipped wool socks over her feet, then pulled on heavy leather boots. All of them had been handcrafted by Barden, though Denna was quickly learning all the skills she needed to survive up here, it this cold mountain country. She smiled to herself as she laced the boots, and suddenly realized what had changed. She was happy. She was relaxed, comfortable and contented. She couldn't remember the last time she felt content.

"You alright dear?" Barden asked her, and Denna realized there were tears in her eyes.

"Everything is wonderful Barden!" she exclaimed, astonished. "I just happy."

"Well it's about damn time," groused the old woman. She pulled a heavy jacket off a peg and threw it at Denna, and then followed it with a large woolen cap. "Now put those on, it's going to get cold."

Minutes later they headed out from the cabin. Denna whistled as she walked behind Barden. The old woman was quiet and sour faced, and cast glances over her shoulder with every third step.

Denna stopped whistling and began to worry about Barden's strange paranoia. She looked back over her shoulder, but saw nothing. Pale light bloomed along the horizon, and Denna knew the sun would rise soon. Where we're they going, she wondered.


	4. Chapter 4

**CHAPTER THREE**

"**Fields of Gold"**

They had been walking for most of the morning, gaining constant elevation. The trail was thin, and hadn't been tended in years. In many places they had to scramble over rock slides that had buried the trail. Eventually they reached a ridge, and Denna could look down behind them and see the route they had followed.

Barden dropped her pack and began rummaging through it. She pulled out a bag that Denna knew contained hardtack and jerky, and tossed Denna a water bag.

"Are we stopping?"

"Yep," replied the old woman. "Time for lunch."

They sat on the lip of the ridge, watching out over the valley. Denna couldn't see the cabin, but she could see the fold in the hills below that hid it. She nibbled on the hardtack, as Barden's pan baked bread lived up to its name. The jerky was tough, and Denna mused that it was probably only fit for feeding to a dog like Hero.

Still, its simple flavor and rough texture blended well with the boldness of the landscape. This fractured landscape, carved by ice from stone, its only color shimmering gold patches of hardy tundra grasses and the wilted grays of wildflowers retreating in the autumn cold. Denna smiled at Barden, and for a brief moment tried to remember her own grandmother. She couldn't remember anything of her life before the Mord'Sith.

Barden appeared deep in thought. Looking closer, Denna sensed she was searching the landscape below. Denna tried to imagine what she was searching for. They'd been sitting on this ridge for some time, the sun having reached it's apex. All she could see was the trail they had followed, stretching out below her. Then she understood.

"Who do you think is following us?" she asked.

Barden let out a long grumbling sigh and said nothing for a long while. Finally she offered "Nobody. Maybe Deegan. Wouldn't put him past him."

"The old miner?" she asked, puzzled. The man hadn't seemed much of a threat, and she found it hard to imagine that a man who would care for a three legged dog could be particularly mean-spirited. And if the miner wanted to attack them, Denna mused, he'd have an easier time of it nearer to the cabin. "He didn't seem very dangerous."

"Gold can make even the mildest of men mad with greed," she offered sagely. "But you're right, Deegan isn't a threat. He might follow us though, and I'd never keep him out. He spends half his days up here in the hills looking for my spot, he's suspected it for long enough. If I led him to it, he'd pan it dry in a month. Gregor's men though, they'll just kill us."

"Gold?"

The old woman simply smiled, and gathered up her pack.

"Come on, ain't nobody there. Let's get going."

Soon they were heading down, into a steep valley. After another hour or so of hiking, they reached rocky stream. Bold streaks of gold shone in a few of the rocks, and Denna gasped.

"Pyrite," laughed Barden. "Fool's gold."

Barden turned and began following the stream, climbing over a dozen small rock falls. Eventually they reached a small cliff formed from a set of three massive boulders, each the size of Barden's cabin. The stream tumbled down the surface of the rocks with a soft roar, and Denna found the sound surprisingly gentle and relaxing.

"This part is hard. You'll be able to help."

It was hard. Ice cold water flowed over the rocks, which were large and smooth, with few cracks or seams. The yellow scum made getting a purchase next to impossible. Denna followed Barden, occasionally giving the old woman a boost. When it was Denna's turn to cross the final hurdle, her foot lost purchase and she began to slide down the rock, cursing as she went. Barden reached out and grabbed hold of her wrist, and hefted her up the side of the rock. The old mountain woman was amazingly strong, and her grip was like iron.

Denna brushed off the worst of the scum clinging to her, and considered her surroundings. The valley was narrow, almost a canyon, and in the center was a massive glacier. The stream flowed out from under the ice. An ice cave had formed, but it's ceiling would require crawling. None of this compared to the long stretch of sand between the glacier and the rockface. The entire length of it glittered gold.

"More pyrite?" Denna asked, finding it hard to believe this much gold could simply be lying on the ground.

"The glacier grinds up everything under it. The pyrite is light, it washes down stream," explained Barden. "The gold is heavier, it sinks to the bottom here."

She dropped her pack and pulled out two large perforated pans.

"Ready girl?" she asked as she tossed a pan to Denna. "Time to really earn your keep."

Denna took to it quickly, and found it was very simple. She scooped up the sand in the pan, and then quickly swished it around, washing the fine sand through the bottom. A thin layer of heavy gold dust was left behind. She scrapped that up, squeezed out the water, and tossed it on a cloth.

"So Barden," Denna asked cautiously. "Why aren't you filthy rich? You could live like a queen on what's here."

"We only take what we need for winter supplies, and leave the rest. If we take more we'll attract attention. The D'harans won't respect our stake on this claim."

Denna nodded, understanding.

"Anyway," added Barden. "I already live better than a queen. A queen has to listen to a king. I don't have to listen to nobody."

Denna smiled, and wondered if she'd discovered why she felt so safe with Barden. She was strong in a way that Darken Rahl would never understand and could never appreciate. More than that, Barden was free.

* * *

The sun was setting as they arrived back at the cabin, the trip back being significantly easier. The door to the cabin hung open, and Denna stopped Barden from entering, pointing out the odd detail.

"Let me go first," she hissed through clenched teeth, and the old woman stopped. Denna picked up a fist sized rock and crept up the door. She pushed it open far enough to see in, but it was dark inside. She stepped in the darkness, letting her eyes adjust to the shadows. There was no one in here.

Outside the cabin two soldiers in D'haran uniform circled around from the woodpile, crossbows drawn and leveled at Barden. One of them held up his finger to his lips, warning her to remain quiet. His partner drew a sword and stepped behind Barden, holding the blade to her throat.

"Hey girl," he yelled. "Come on out of there."

In the cabin, Denna winced. An ambush, and she'd walked right into it. How long had she been in these mountains? Long enough to dull her instincts. She looked around the cabin quickly, looking for a weapon. She grabbed the chair from the desk and smashed it against the floor. A sturdy crossbar, about a foot long and two inches thick, would make a handy weapon. It was about the size of her agiel.

Her agiel. She realized she had no idea where the tool was, and hadn't seen it since she'd woken up in Barden's cabin. She hadn't wanted it, not once. Now she found she missed it's comfortable heft and sharp bite.

She stepped out of the cottage. Two soldiers, one with a crossbow aimed at her, another with a sword to Barden's throat. The soldiers were twenty feet from each other, and each was twenty feet from Denna, forming a triangle. She didn't try to hide the club, instead she stepped out holding the club out in front of her, parallel with ground, right at the soldier's eye level. She hid an empty fist behind her back, and stood tall and proud. Because the cabin sat on a slight rise, their eye line was drawn up to the club. They stared up at it anxiously. Obedient already, the pathetic little dogs, she mused.

"Let her go, then go home. Or I will make one of you insert this -" she brought her empty hand around and slapped the club against it "-into the other."

The two soldier's eyes went wide and they exchanged nervous glances. Denna met Barden's eyes, and she saw the old woman was cool and collected, watching Denna with cold interest.

The two men looked back at Denna. She began slinking towards the soldier that held Barden. The tunic she wore hung loose around her, but the trousers were tight enough. The soldier with the crossbow never thought of the weapon in his hand, he simply watched Denna walk.

She fixed the swordsman with a sultry gaze. He blinked and swallowed, and the blade fell away slightly, hanging loosely in the air before Barden. She cocked her head slightly as she approached, and he mirrored the gesture. Too easy, she thought.

"Would you like to stick it in him?" she asked, her tone smoky and smooth. "Or do you want him to stick it in you? Which is more to your preference?"

As she knew he would, he glanced at the other soldier. It was a natural reaction. She had asked him a question, a question that the men who live in close quarters in the repressive D'haran army feared even the mention of. The mere suspicion of that particular perversion was enough to get a soldier sent...to a place like Trevor's Folly. Her body language aroused the man, the question overwhelmed him with confusion, and so he did the entirely natural thing. He considered the question without considering why the question was being asked.

As he looked away, she brought the club up, knocking the soldier's blade up and away. He turned back in surprise, but she had already grabbed his other other shoulder, and spun him around. Barden moved with surprising agility, throwing herself onto the ground and scrambling away.

The soldier with the crossbow reacted slowly, but he reacted. Denna leaned into the spin, and traded places with the swordsman long enough for him to take the bolt. It sunk into his back and he shrieked, slumping to the ground.

Denna rushed the idiot with the crossbow, and he demonstrated his intelligence by trying to reload. Denna cleared the distance with a series of cartwheels, enjoying the chance to engage her skills. She landed before the soldier with a flourish. He had just nocked a bolt, but had not even begun cranking the bow back when she knocked it out of the way with a roundhouse kick. She followed the kick up by spinning around and slapping him across the chest with the club.

It was then she realized she'd made a terrible mistake. Years of training with the agiel had honed her instincts, and the agiel was much like a club. Her mistake was forgetting that a club was not like an agiel, and letting her well trained fighting skills take over. Had she struck the man with her agiel, he would have been brought to his knees with pain. With the club, she only tapped on his breastplate ineffectually. There'd been style, panache and flair in her strike, but no power.

He respond without thinking, swinging the crossbow wildly like a club. His swing had plenty of power, and he caught Denna on the side of the head. He was moron, Denna mused, but he had the club figured out better than Denna, so she gave him that as the world spun around her. The metal bow missed her face, but the wooden frame caught her right on the temple, and knocked her off her feet. She rolled on the hard rocky ground, dazed and stunned, landing flat on her back.

As she sat up and shook her head, the soldier seemed to spin around, growing smaller, and she realized he was running away. She struggled to her feet and took a step after him, but her legs were unsteady beneath her and she thought better of it. Barden had yet to regain her feet, but Denna knew she had no chance of catching the much younger soldier. Barden was strong, and her reflexes quick, but age had slowed her down and she didn't run anywhere.

Denna rubbed her head as the soldier disappeared. He would run back to his master, and a man like Gregor Mar wouldn't suffer the indignity as long as he had other people's lives left to spare. He'd send all of his soldiers, and Denna didn't like those odds. She needed to control the conflict, set the pace herself, if she hoped to survive.

Denna helped Barden up and considered the patch of woods.

"Where did you bury my leathers?" she asked, a plan forming in her mind.

"They're in the cabin," she admitted. "I cleaned them, but they're just scraps now. I didn't lie about cutting them off."

"Go inside," she ordered. "Get them. "

She checked the fallen swordsman. He was alive, and conscious. She grabbed the bolt in his back and twisted it. He groaned and Barden looked at her with eyes full of sadness and disappointment.

"Go inside!" Denna yelled as she turned her attention to the guard. "I don't want you to see this."

* * *

Just as she said, Barden hadn't buried them at all. They were simply hidden in a bundle of furs under her bed. Nor had she lied about cutting them off, they were in scraps. Denna handed the ruined suit to Barden and told her to make something usable out of it, and quickly.

Her agiel was there in the bundle as well. She touched it, running her fingers along its length, felt it crackle and pop, sending sparks of pain through her fingers and up her arm. She took it up and it screamed in her hand. She let the pain roar in her ears, felt it crackling behind her eyes. Then she pushed it down, took control of it and forced it to be quiet. Denna is strong, she thought and allowed herself a wicked smile.

They wouldn't attack in the night, she hoped. Gregor Mar would want to see her suffer for the defeat of his soldiers, and would be to lazy to travel by night. According to the swordsman, who now lay dead near the woodpile behind the cabin, Mar had sent the troops to capture them both. He intended to torture Denna and force Barden to reveal the source of her gold.

Denna smiled. Gregor Mar was not as stupid as she had thought. Clearly he had a talent for reading people, recognizing where their weaknesses lay. Barden would never give up the location under torture, she was too stubborn to break easily, she'd enjoy resisting too much, and was far too old to fear death. But the woman clearly had a heart, and if she had family they would be her weakness. Mar was smart enough to recognize that at least.

Denna's nostrils flared as she flushed with anger. The old woman had been nothing but kind to her, helping her heal from her wounds. Not just the physical wounds she suffered at the hands of the Confessor, or the damage she had sustained with her forced march, but the deeper, more profound wounds that had driven her to this remote place. Now Gregor Mar dared to use her as a weapon against Barden, to try to manipulate her like a pawn. This, Denna decided, was completely unacceptable. She was done with being used by pigs like Gregor Mar, or his master Darken Rahl.

Denna spent some time burying the soldier, turning the anger into power to drive the shovel and dig the hole. It wouldn't do to be angry when she faced Mar. Anger was a weakness.

She went to check on Barden. She held up the remnants of the Denna's leathers. There was very little left. The corset and collar were entirely cut apart. Barden had trimmed a few pieces to even them up, and quickly sewn together a vest like halter out of the torso pieces, and short pants split up along the thigh and held together with leather lace ties, salvaged from the corset. A pair of wristband made from the collar finished off the ensemble. Not quite the uniform of the Mord'Sith, but it would come close.

"That will work," offered Denna. "I'll need something to wear over it till I reach town."

Barden retrieved a fur blanket from what was once her granddaughter's bed, and began cutting pieces from it. As Denna watched her work, she wondered how old the girl had been, how long ago she had disappeared. What could have taken her as well as her parents.

"Barden," she asked as the old woman continued to work. "What happened to your family?"

Barden worked silently, thinking about her answer.

"The D'harans came. They said the town was now a D'haran town. They took control of the Trade Hall, where the miner's sell their dust," she sighed as she began rapidly punching holes through the leather of the fur blanket with an awl. "A woman came to the town. She was a Mord'Sith. Millie, that's my daughter, she and Fitz had taken Adell into town. This woman, she saw little Adell."

Barden put down the awl, a took up the leather lacing left over from the corset, began pushing it through the holes she'd punched.

"I think you know what happened next."

Denna didn't know how to respond, and for awhile they simply sat in silence.

"Your granddaughter might still be alive," she offered. But not her daughter, or her son-in-law.

"Might be."

"Do you know how old she'd be?"

"Oh, she'd be about your age. This was awhile ago. Look, it's finished."

In minutes Barden had turned the fur, the pelt of a black bear, into short hooded capelet.

Denna pulled it around her shoulders. It was snug and warm, and would be easy to remove in combat.

"Barden," Denna asked, hesitantly, unsure if she wanted to know the answer. "Are you my grandmother?"

Barden laughed, slapping her knee.

"Of course not, you silly girl. Why would I hide something like that from you, if I thought you could be my little Adell?"

Denna smiled weakly, and Barden's eyes softened.

"But if you want to think of me like that, you go ahead."

Denna's smile grew brighter.

"I'm ready to go," she resolved.

* * *

Denna strode confidently into Trebor's Folly. No one was awake early in the morning, and so no one watched her as she walked down the single road through town, a road that ended with this town. No one except the chickens, who clucked as she walked by.

The Trade Hall stood before her, festooned with the red and black banners of D'hara. It was the largest, most secure building in the town, but was still only a story and a half, with at most eight rooms. It would take siege equipment to crack open the walls if those inside wanted it defended. It would have made sense for the D'harans to claim it as their power center in the city, even if it weren't the only place in town where miners could sell the gold dust they found.

She walked up to the single heavy wooden door. She pushed, and it swung open. Denna marveled at the incompetence of the soldiers inside. They were clearly the dregs of the D'haran army, soldiers who managed to be exactly useful enough to make it a waste to kill them for Rahl's amusement, but not a smidgen more.

She walked into the foyer of the Hall, and for a moment wondered if Gregor Mar was clever enough to have set a trap. In the center of the room, really a lobby, there was a table. Sitting at the table, each lightly snoring, were two D'haran soldiers. The night watch, Denna assumed, deciding that Gregor Mar might have some talent for reading people, but no mind for strategy or tactics. Denna knew his type, the commanders who wanted their soldiers to like them, and didn't care if they were respected. Always trying to be the buddy of the men under their command. Without proper discipline, a soldier would become lax in his duty. Then that soldier would die.

She tugged the leather tie the held the cape around her shoulders, and pulled it from her shoulders as she drew her agiel. She walked quickly to the table and, without hesitating, pressed the agiel into the closer soldier's throat, pushing his head back. He woke screaming for just a second before he died.

His companion snorted and came to a sudden start, but Denna had already thrown her cape at him, and he woke entangled in it. He stood up and turned around, flailing at the cape. Denna leapt onto the table and tumbled across it. She pounced on the soldier, hitting him solidly in the small of his back and bowling him over. She landed on his back and grabbed his head through the cape, twisting it around till she heard a satisfying crunch.

She searched their bodies. Neither had a key of any sort, but she did find a nice slim dagger on the soldier she'd blinded with the cape. It would be useful later.

The only door out of the lobby was barred and locked from the other side. There was a counter with window connecting this room to the next, but it was barred with a metal grill. There was only a small opening to pass gold through. Denna considered the opening. She could just fit her hips through it, she figured. She was as slim as she had ever been. She had maintain a rigorous exercise regimen as a Mord'Sith, and helping Barden around the cabin had been equally hard work.

She climbed up on the counter and put her feet through the opening. Gripping the grate tight, and using her arms to support herself, she slowly angled herself through the opening. Her hips, the least flexible and widest point on the body, did not want to fit through the opening. She twisted around and the grate pushed into her as she struggled to rock herself through the narrow opening without breaking her pelvis.

She chuckled, and thought to herself that if Gregor Mar was favored by the stars, now was the moment he would stumble out of his room. Denna knew she was utterly defenseless.

Gritting her teeth, she pushed hard and the exhaled sharply as her hips popped through the opening and the metal bar was suddenly pressing down hard on her diaphragm. The next part would be easier than the hips, but far more painful. At least, unlike the pelvis, the ribcage had some give.

Denna curled her legs in, and her feet found purchase on the opposite side of the counter. She began pressing against the counter, using the leverage to pull her torso through the grate. She ground her teeth as the bar pressed into her ribs, and grunted as she heard bones cracking. Her ribs were less flexible than she had suspected. Despite the pain, she soon found herself up to her shoulder through the grate. Here it was a simple matter of sliding one arm through, then the other. Her head was about as wide as her pelvis, and it by the time she was free of the grate she was thanking the stars she hadn't worn earrings.

She took a moment to catch her breath, and the pain in her ribcage was sharp. She pushed it aside, and examined the room. There were tables, with weights and measures for weighing gold, and a pile of empty bags. A trapdoor in the floor probably lead to a vault. A short hall at the back of the room revealed five doors. Two to each side of the hall, and one at the terminus. That would be the main office, and Gregor Mar would have taken it as his quarters.

Denna reached the first pair of doors, and pushed the one to her right open a crack, peeking in. A storeroom full of crates and barrels. She tried the door to her left. Also empty, it was an office for the record keepers. Too early in the morning for them to have come in.

She crept up to the second pair of doors. She tried the one to her left, and as it swung open she was greeted by the sound of heavy snoring. She slipped through the door and looked about. Four bunks, and on each bunk a soldier lay sleeping. She recognized one of them as the man with the crossbow.

Two in the lobby, four in here, one dead buried behind Barden's cabin. There would be three men in the other room, ten in total plus their commander. She drew the dagger and slinked across the room, drawing close to the nearest soldier, the soldier who had clouted her with the crossbow.

He snorted and rolled onto his side. His neck was open an exposed, and Denna held the point of the dagger over his jugular. Using the flat of her hand as a hammer against the dagger's pommel, she drove the blade through the soldier's throat with one smooth motion, neatly severing his throat. Any scream he might have made was instantly drowned in blood, and then he was dead.

She moved to next soldier and repeated the process. The two remaining soldiers were bunked over the first two, and would be harder to dispatch. They were above Denna's shoulders, and any strike against them would be awkward.

She stepped on the lower bunk, grabbing the rail of the top bunk. She pulled herself up and examine the soldier sleeping before her. His back was to her, curled up in a fetal position, his blankets pulled tight around him. She could kill him easily. A quick thrust into his kidney would do the trick, but he'd scream. He would scream quite a bit.

She held herself up with one arm, and angled the dagger above the man's throat with the other. One quick stab should slice his neck right open, but she couldn't see what she was aiming at. She struck, but her fingers lost their purchase on the rail of the bed, and she slipped. She caught herself instantly, and did not fall, but the dagger twitched in her grip. The knife nicked the soldier's throat, deep enough to cause real pain. His scream was soft and airy, hushed like a stage whisper. She'd cut his windpipe, but missed the jugular.

The soldier kicked and thrashed, and Denna dropped down to the floor. The soldier foot crashed through the wooden rail of his bunk with a loud snap.

"Wha?" muttered the fourth soldier as he woke. Denna leapt onto the side of his bed, her feet propped on the lower bunk, and slashed at his face with the knife. He shrieked loudly as the knife sliced through his cheek and chin, and he lashed out with his fist. He caught her on the temple with the punch, and Denna fell backwards. She reached out to catch herself, but the added height she'd gained by standing on the lower bunk made the landing harder than she expected, and at an unfamiliar angle.

A jolt of sharp pain went up her arm, and she realized her wrist was broken. She cursed, and struggled to her feet just in time to get kicked in the face by the soldier has he come off the bunk. She stumbled back and cursed again. He hadn't even meant to do that, she fumed.

"Help!" he screamed, running for the door and bursting through it.

Denna shook her head and focused, then followed after the soldier. With her good hand she drew the agiel and lunged at the guard, thrusting it into the small of his back. He screamed and stumbled forward, falling hard against the opposite door. Denna heard shouts from inside and cursed again.

She held up her broken wrist and grabbed her wrist guard with her teeth, pulling it slightly forward. She removed the dagger from her belt and slid it between her wrist and the guard, so that the handle rested in her palm and the flat of the blade lay across the break. She bit down on the lacing and tugged it tighter. It was no proper brace, but it would keep her hand from flopping around. She crouched down low, her feet planted broadly, and waited for the soldier's to open their door.

They came through it a second later, all three of them trying to push through the door at the same time. Undisciplined and half-awake, they were intent on making this easy for Denna.

The first to come through the door raised a broadsword high over his head, the blade narrowly avoiding the ceiling. Denna pounced, bringing the agiel across his face with enough force to send him spinning to the ground. The magic of the agiel magnified the pain, and the soldier screamed as he clawed at his face. He'd be blinded long enough for Denna to focus on his companions.

"What's going on?" came a nervous screech from the other side of the door at the end of the hall. That would be Gregor Mar, thought Denna. She wondered if he'd have the courage to open his door.

She dodged a clumsy thrust from the second soldier through the door, and deftly brought her agiel up between his legs. He collapsed, falling to his knees then rolling onto the floor with guttural groan. No scream, Denna mused, finding the reaction interesting.

She continued to observe the man writhing on the floor as she brought her heel around in high kick, dropping it on the bridge of the third man's nose. She thought the outfit Barden had salvaged from her Mord'Sith leathers had been a bit tawdry, but she had to admit it allowed a far greater range of movement. Free from the handicap of the tight bodysuit, she found her kicks delivered far more power.

The soldier hit the floor immediately, and Denna wondered if he was still alive. She pressed the agiel against his temple and made sure he was finished. The other two, crippled with pain but still conscious, struggled against her as she moved to finish them off. That she had to accomplish the task with one hand made the inevitable futility of their struggle all the more satisfying.

She returned the agiel to its holster and took a moment to compose herself. The pain in her wrist was intense, but she bottled it up and put it away, storing it deep in the back of her mind, far from her conscious thought. It became an irritating noise far in the background.

Denna strode confidently to Gregor Mar's door, and rapped her knuckles against it. Three clear sharp knocks.

There was silence. Denna considered the door. Would Mar try to kill her by coming through with a sword, she wondered, or was he waiting behind the door with a loaded crossbow. More likely the later.

She knocked again, three times.

"Spirits!" screamed Mar from behind the door. He was at least twenty feet back, probably cowering in his bed. It would be a four posted affair, Gregor was the sort who would insist on luxurious sleeping arrangements. He would definitely have a crossbow.

"Gregor Mar," commanded Denna. "I have come to negotiate with you. Do you know who I am?"

"You're that girl who came to town with the old woman," he shrieked. "What did you do to my men?"

Denna smiled. There had been a lot of screaming, there at the end.

"But do you know _what_ I am?"

"What?"

"I said, do you know _what_ I am?"

"No!"

"Gregor Mar, I am Mord'Sith."

"No! What?"

"It's true. I'm going to make you an offer Gregor Mar."

There was a long pause, and then she heard Mar on the other side of the door.

"What offer?" he asked weakly.

"Gregor Mar, listen carefully. If you open this door and submit yourself to my authority, I will allow you to die swiftly and with relatively little pain. If you make me open this door to come get you, I promise you that you will die a long, slow and painful death."

She paused, allowing Gregor to consider her words.

It didn't take him long to decide. Denna heard Mar throw the bolt on the other side of the door, and it slowly swung open. She tensed, ready for Mar to try to sucker her.

The crossbow lay on the floor behind him. His shoulders were slumped and his eyes wet. He looked her up and down, recognized the red shade of her leathers, and knew he was defeated.

"Please mistress," he pleaded. "Make it swift."

She considered him. As she suspected, he had been broken before. One of her sisters had once made this man her pet. Then exile to this border post wasn't his only sentence. She wondered what he did, then decided she didn't really care.

"Kneel," she ordered and he dropped to his knees. She placed her hand on his forehead, pushed it back. With her other hand she gingerly pried open his mouth. He didn't resist, and instead simply sobbed.

She drew her agiel and raised it up, then plunged it into Gregor's mouth, shoving it down his throat. Pressed up against the base of his skull, the pain burst killed him instantly, a blinding flash ripping his mind apart so fast he never became consciously aware of it. She let go of the agiel, and the now dead Gregor Mar collapsed on the floor like a slab of meat, a slaughtered pig, the red agiel an apple between his jaws.

Denna shrugged and walked out of Mar's room.

The door to the lobby was easily opened from this side,and she casually strolled out of the Hall after retrieving her capelet and wrapping it around herself.

As she walked out of Trebor's Folly, a young woman stepped out on her porch, a small child on her hip. She watched Denna curiously, and Denna threw a fist into the air.

"Hail D'hara!" she cried, and the girl's eyes went wide as she retreated into the cabin.

Eventually a D'haran convoy would arrive to collect the gold gathered at the Hall, and they would find Gregor Mar with the agiel of a Mord'Sith shoved down his throat. They wouldn't understand. They would report it to the Mord'Sith, and they would wonder which one of them had done it, and why.

Eventually they would realize it must have been Denna. But she would have moved on by then.


	5. Chapter 5

**EPILOGUE**

"**The End of the Beginning"**

"Are you sure you have to go?" Barden asked again, and Denna was sure it wasn't the last time she would ask.

"Yes," Denna said with a sad smile, as she folded up her leathers and tucked them away in a bag. "I have something I have to do."

"Where will you go?"

"Brennidon first. I may hear word of where the Seeker is."

"What will you do when you find him?"

"Join his band, if he'll have me."

Barden finished wrapping up a weeks worth of jerky, hardtack and dry cheese in a linen cloth, and handed it to Denna. She placed it in the pack.

"And if he won't?"

"Then I'll do what I can to help him, without his knowledge."

"I wish you'd just stay here," Barden sighed. "You know you can just leave it behind."

"No, Barden, you know I can't stay. The D'harans will be back. You'll be find if you're alone, but if they find me with you, they'll kill you for aiding me. When they come, you have to say you never saw me."

"I know girl, I just wish there was another way."

Denna smiled at the old woman as she slung the pack over her shoulder.

"With every sunrise, the day that the sun sets on Darken Rahl's empire comes closer. I've met him Barden, the Seeker. He's amazing. You've never known a man like him. He's going to kill Darken Rahl. When he does, when this is over, I'll be back."

Barden walked with Denna to the door, and followed her out.

"I'm old Denna, I might not be much longer for this world."

"Hush Barden, you'll outlast these mountains," Denna laughed, waving to the majestic snow capped peaks beyond the cabin. "We'll see each other again."

She leaned down and kissed the old woman on her forehead.

"Goodbye, grandmother."

Barden grabbed and hugged her fiercely.

"You come back granddaughter, you come back."

"I promise," Denna cried, the old woman's emotion overcoming her.

They held each other for a long time, and finally Barden let go of her, and Denna turned and walked to the forest. She reached the timberline and turned to look back at the cabin. Barden was still standing where she had left her. Denna waved, and Barden returned the gesture.

For a brief moment, she thought about staying. She could hide in the hills if the D'harans came back, avoid the town. Then she remembered the Seeker, and knew she could not hide from her destiny. She turned back to the forest and disappeared into the trees.

**THE END**


End file.
